


Honey, I Tried

by strwberrycake



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Abandonment, Depression, F/M, Loneliness, Love, Marriage, Obsession, Song fic, Trying, greed - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-05-26 19:46:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15008057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strwberrycake/pseuds/strwberrycake
Summary: "All you want is honey."Marriage with Jumin Han was a dream. A dream you were desperate to keep. How do you keep him from slipping through your fingers? He wanted more than you could offer, but you were content with the simple things.





	1. Chapter 1

You couldn’t do this anymore. You were drowning under the endless waves of despair.

 

How did this happen? How did you let it get to this point?

 

You tried. You tried so hard. You tried so hard, you left your heart bleeding on the floor.

 

You gave him all you had. He just wanted more. He just kept taking, and taking, never giving.

 

He kept taking until there was nothing left of you.

 

He wanted milk and honey, he wanted spice, he wanted sugar, he wanted a smooth aftertaste.

 

You offered all of you to him, but it was never enough.

 

He drank up all of your being in one sip, in one swift swallow, he had you, and yet— he was still unsatisfied.

 

He was the one who brought you here. He brought you to the tippy top of the flat, left you to yourself. Left to you to keep yourself company, left you to wallow in your loneliness. He gave you nothing except for empty promises.

 

_“I’ll be home, soon.”_

 

_“It’s busy here, I won’t make it tonight.”_

 

_“I’ll try to get off work earlier, I miss you.”_

 

_“I love you.”_

 

Night after night, losing yourself to the night view of the city. The bright lights, the buzzing cars below, the city never slept. It was the only thing keeping you company at this point.

 

But yet you tried so hard.

 

He would come home sometimes. You’d see his slim figure come through the door, and walk around the living room. You were content. Just seeing him made all of your pain go away. You weren’t lonely anymore. He came home. He came for you.

 

Sometimes he’d be gone for more than a week. Saying the workplace needed him, he had things to take care of, and he couldn’t be bothered.

 

You did your best. You remained sweet. You kept your heart whole, you stayed that way just in case he wanted to come back home earlier. You thought if you were always sweet, always whole, he would always love you.

 

Over time, he began wanting more. You weren’t sweet enough, you weren’t graceful enough, you weren’t this or that and the list began piling.

 

You did your best. You would talk to him about just what wasn’t enough for him. Sometimes he would dodge the conversation entirely, but sometimes he let you in and tell you.

 

_“Perhaps, you could surprise me with a little something when I come back from work. I gave you the credit card to use at your discretion. Use it. Surprise me.”_

 

So you did. You went out and bought lingerie to excite, perfume to entice, and more feminine clothing to appeal. You molded yourself. You added more sugar, you added some cinnamon spice, you added some milk and honey to yourself.

 

It satisfied him for a small while.

 

He would come home more often, stay longer, touch you more, and leave work earlier.

 

It satisfied him. Just for a little while.

 

You kept up your end, but he was getting bored.

 

He started staying at work a little longer each night. Until, finally, he stopped coming home altogether.

 

He would call you sometimes.

 

It was the same conversation every night.

 

_“How was work? Any progress?”_

 

_“No, we’re pretty bogged up. I can’t come home again this week.”_

 

_“Oh.”_

 

_“I have to go, I have to take a call. I’ll call you again, tomorrow. Make sure to feed Elizabeth.”_

 

_“Yes, okay, I love-”_

 

Click.

 

One day, you had enough. You couldn’t do it. This routine. This painful routine.

 

You fed Elizabeth, left her enough food for a week. You gathered your things. You left a note. If Jumin ever decided to come back home, he would have a brief explanation on why.

 

You blocked his number. You removed all traces of yourself from that dead flat.

 

You called Zen, and asked if you could stay at his place for a little while. He agreed, although wary.

 

That was that.

 

You left, you ghosted your husband.

 

You thought he would relish the sugar of the relationship, the sweetness you produced just for him.

 

That wasn’t the case. You died, and he wanted more still.

 

At least he couldn’t say you didn’t try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for this work: "Milk and Honey" by Billie Marten
> 
> I might come back and make this a longer version, w multiple chapters. I just wanted to write something because of this song. Sorry, it's so short.


	2. Chapter 2

Jumin Han is not the type of man to be surprised at anything.

 

Jumin Han is not the type of man to admit his mistakes.

 

Jumin Han is not the type of man to be at an utter  _ loss _ for words. 

 

Jumin Han is not the type of man to be  _ lost _ , period. 

 

It was another mundane runthrough of a day, waking up in a hotel, changing, attending work until 11 pm, spending a little  _ too _ much time with the new pretty desk assistant. Home. 

 

Home, to Jumin, had changed its definition one too many times in the course of only a few months. 

 

It started off as a sickenly sweet definition. If someone had asked the stoic Jumin Han what home was to him in the first rosy month of his sickenly sweet marriage, he wouldn’t have even wasted a  _ breath _ , skipped a  _ beat _ , with no hesitation, and his chest puffed with pride _ — _ home was  _ you _ , of course. Your arms, your scent, your body heat, your smile, you. You were home. Anywhere, anytime, he was at home with you. 

 

In the second month, it changed. Just a little, nothing major. You both moved in together, and finally got a concrete  _ home _ . That flat, that gorgeous flat! Jumin could still _ — _ even now, recall how your eyes lit up upon seeing the shared bedroom, and the rose petals littered along the floor, and on the bedspread. You were so happy, then. He was happy. 

 

The world had never been rosier. 

 

To Jumin, you were still home, but at least he had an address this time. Everyday after work, he could find that address from any location, and upon his arrival, there you’d be. Lips dripping honey, stress melted away with a single touch, a single kiss. A home within a home. 

 

Even Jumin couldn’t pinpoint when things started changing, and when he thought of home, your face wasn’t the first thing to pop up in his head. He justified this change by assuring himself that because he didn’t think of you immediately, that didn’t mean that you weren’t still the ultimate source of comfort, it just meant he thought of the physical  _ place  _ instead. Which, was normal, and totally justified. He didn’t think much of it. 

 

When home was neither you, or the apartment, Jumin didn’t know what to think. What a ridiculous problem. Home was home. But what was home? Ah. Home is work. Home is the office. 

 

He justified this to himself jokingly at first, but the longer he stayed in that white office, the more the joke became reality. Besides, there was nothing wrong with that. He  _ did _ have a lot of work to do, and deadlines to meet, and the company just had to keep up with the competitors. The afterhours were necessary, he couldn’t fight it. Although he missed you, he was also married to his work. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. He still came home once a week, and you still met him with the same smile from last week. Time never seemed to move in that flat. You were always you, even though the world outside, the company, was buzzing with life and change. 

 

You were always you. Domestic, and soft. 

 

He always thought you were beautiful. 

 

A goddess in human form. The world was much too tainted for the likes of you. How could someone so good have survived this far? He could say the same thing about Yoosung, but even then, Yoosung had some dark corners in his mind. Jumin could never find any dark corners in yours. 

 

Maybe that was your mistake. You loved Jumin so much, you didn’t want him to know you could be  _ human _ . If he wanted you to be his goddess, a goddess you were. 

 

Maybe that was his mistake. Jumin believed in your image. You kept up your end so impeccably well, over time, he forgot you  _ could  _ be human. He forgot that you weren’t perfect. He forgot that even a goddess, can get the light burned out of them. 

 

So when Jumin forgot that you could have doubts, insecurities, suspicions, and limited patience, he didn’t think it would cause  _ too _ much trouble to fool around with the pretty woman at the front desk. Her lips were always painted red, skirt was always a little more inviting, and her eyes had this devious twinkle to them, Jumin was intrigued. 

 

She was nothing like you. 

 

She was sexy, dangerous, and  _ new _ . Jumin took this inviting woman as a new science experiment. Studying her movements, gauging her expressions, just how long would it take for this creature to fall? 

 

Oops, he forgot. 

 

The glittering ring on his left hand, shone too brightly in his white office. The desk woman pointed it out, almost teasingly. It was just a game after all. A game of cat, and mouse. He chased, the woman baited, ultimately, they ended up in his much-too-bright white office. Papers scattered, red lipstick smeared, skirt hiked up, tie loosened up, buttons unbuttoned. The desk woman wasn’t dumb, she knew. She had a husband herself. However, this game was much too fun to quit.

 

At least the desk woman was conscious of her actions. Jumin was like a grade schooler.

He got too caught up in the game. 

 

He audibly gasped. The woman only laughed, she thought the whole situation was just really funny. 

 

If Jumin didn’t know any better, he’d think the devil invaded this woman to torture him. 

 

The way her slender fingers removed the ring, placed it in a cabinet to be forgotten, and latched his lips to resume where they had left off, surely was the work of a demon. 

 

How easily a promise was shoved away. How easily the image of you was tucked away. Mind turned to putty, and drained into the gutter. 

 

There was no turning back a long time ago, but Jumin Han allowed this happen, and catapulted himself into the worst possible scenario. 

 

The cherry on top? When her magic fingers reached that magical spot, he groaned  _ your _ name, into  _ her _ mouth. 

 

The desk woman thought that was even funnier, this game was just  _ so _ much fun. 

 

Jumin couldn’t possibly go home after that. How was he supposed to face you? How was he supposed to talk to you? 

 

You, with your sugarey smile, and welcoming presence. You, with never faltering loyalty, and endless adoration, how could he possibly come home to you? 

 

So he didn’t. He couldn’t.

 

No matter how many times he washed in that hotel shower, that woman’s perfume never left his skin. Her kisses burned, and her touch bruised. They weren’t visible, but Jumin was so worried that if he came home, you would be able to see just how  _ marked _ he was by someone else. 

 

Every phone call had him cringing, and his heart bleeding. How could he do something like that to someone like you? 

 

He avoided saying “I love you,” because how could he? Did he? After all that? He wasn’t sure anymore. 

 

He decided to just take some time off. Make sure that he really got rid of that woman’s presence on his skin, in his eyes. 

 

A few weeks of not coming home should do the trick, it should be okay.

 

He didn’t think he’d be coming back to an empty flat.

 

Suddenly, the unbreakable Jumin Han, had broke. 

 

Where had you gone? Did you find out? Did he even have the  _ right _ to find you? Bring you back? What was he going to do? By himself? 

 

You were his goddess, do gods always abandon the unworthy? 

 

What was he going to do? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *throws the chapter* here. have fun, hope u like it. i am tiredt (just kidding luv u guys, please enjoy! let me know what u think, and i'll try to add another chapter soon!)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration for this work: "Milk and Honey" by Billie Marten
> 
> I might come back and make this a longer version, w multiple chapters. I just wanted to write something because of this song. Sorry, it's so short.


End file.
